Trial and Error
by SuperWhoLockStuck64
Summary: insert something clever and witty that won't make me sound like a fool
1. Chapter 1

He was there the first day of middle school. The day when the sun hit too hard, the august heat suffocating John and dampening the sections of shirt that lie on his skin. The very same day Dave was jumped in the parking lot walking him home, the one the teacher secretly smoked behind because the cameras weren't very good.

It's not really fair to say _Dave _got jumped. It was John who was supposed to get beat up. They walked slow talking about how Mr. Anderson, the crazy Algebra teacher who was so old he tended to drool, was insane for assigning a test on a Wednesday. Dave was going on about how the hump of the week should be left alone, something about how it was cruel to not only make them suffer two more days but then give a test. It was nice, how it usually was hanging out with him, they'd known each other for ages and where Dave had grown to an infamous cool-kid, john had…well let's just leave it at he had not been so lucky. However, despite their glaring social rankings their friendship had never once been swayed, John even sat at the renowned "cool table" (a name Dave and himself thought was ridiculous; honestly, it's just a table).

While they chattered on, they hadn't noticed the group of kids walking in their path, someone called to john, but not with his name. Well, it might as well be: Beaver-bitch, a "clever" little nickname he'd been so _blessed_ to have bestowed upon him. He heard it so much nowadays it was a force of habit to turn around; this of course earning a sight from Dave because 'you shouldn't answer to their bullshit' as he so bluntly put it. Nonetheless, he turned, Dave sighed, and soon they were both facing the trio walking up to them, their gaits suspicious; ominous.

A hand gripped John's arm firmly, swinging him around and back, protectively shielding him from the potential threat. Before he knew it he was clinging to Dave's shirt not really much of a fighter, although he could throw a good punch if he did say so himself. He hid his face, really not wanting to have this sort of show down the first day of school. John flinched when the low rumble of a growl, almost primitive in its respects.

"Beat it Strider."

"Hah, fuck off Nior."

Noir was a long, muscular, pain in the ass if you wanted the honest truth. Long ago his sister, Jade, used to be really good friends with him even with the slight age gap. They had spent practically every waking moment talking or with one another, being rather dark of mind Nior had a tough time making other friends so when Jade went off to college well things got bad. The boy turned mean, and looking so similar to Jade made John prime choice for residual anger. Once, he'd tried to talk to the guy about it, Dad always said bullies were usually sad and John could see that now, and heck he didn't want that. His kind gesture resulted in his very first ass beating, when he cried he was deemed his infamous nickname, and things only got worse.

It only took a few days of continuous secret beatings, behind the dumpster, in empty halls when John was unfortunate enough to fall behind the pack of students, before Dave found out, and only another six hours before the stubborn boy got the culprits out of him. That night, the very last day of grade school before the summer freedom promised he'd go a whole three months of not seeing his assailants, he went home more anxious than ever. Dave had his brother, Dirk (home from college himself, and curious as to why he was toting around little twerps) take him home.

John called repeatedly, either getting voicemail or Mr. Strider, neither of them soothing his worries. Finally, after about the fifth time of calling, the older Strider refused to let him hang up.

"Sup kid, you mind explaining why you've damn near blown up my phone?"

After about two minutes of stuttering and trying to come up with shitty excuses, poor Mr. Strider calmly listening being patient. He didn't mean to, but he ended up telling the whole story, finding that he couldn't come up with a better excuse for his frantic phone-calling charade. John told him about Jade and the dumpster, the way he couldn't hide it anymore, even down to Dave's knuckles turning so white it was like the bone stood in place of skin, and how his face darkened as he called Dirk.

There was shuffling on the line, followed by curses and the jingling of keys.

"Stay there kid, I'll bring pip-squeak back."

"Ah, yeah okay," he swallowed dryly, hoping against hopes that the man could do as he says, "thank you Mr. Strider."

There was a paused on the line, before a little mock huff was heard.

"Bro."

"What?"

"Call me Bro; 'Mr. Strider' makes me sound like an old man."

An awkward chuckle came across the line before the phone clicked, leaving John with the call tone.

He stayed up late that night waiting. Around 10pm a knock was heard, John scrambling to answer nearly knocked his dad over. It was Mr. Stri-Bro, one hand on a very bruised Dave, but grinning Dave.

From that day, Dave always watched over him because 'that's what bro's do, man they watch after each other, kick ass, and chow down on each other's food' Dirk and Bro helped out when they could too. This only made Noir and his band of misfits angrier, unable to touch their prey due to a wall of protective and lethal Striders. He felt bad about it later, but he was sort of giddy when he went to the store with his dad, of course for baking supplies which John whined about the whole way there, and saw one of his offenders so violently bruised the boy could've passed for having purple skin by birth. Yes, he was always protected even now.

Lost in his thoughts he hadn't realized Dave and Noir's arguing had resulted in both boys being nose-to-nose, angrily spitting insults in each other's faces. His eyes shifted to Landon English, a distant cousin of his friend Jake, and Vriska Serket, a girl who despite being kind of a bitch really didn't belong with the two brutes. They were slowly closing in, John clung tighter shaking, damn it body giving him away, eyes darting around in an anxious blur of blue.

Dave noticed this as well, pulling an arm back protectively around the trembling boy shoved into his back, making a mental note to start teaching him at least basic fighting skills. Dave knew he didn't have to worry about Serket; she wasn't a fighter, more of a mental attacker than a physical. English on the other hand was whom he was more concerned about. That fascist idiot, who had an annoying habit of making people call him LE, always pissed him off.

"Let the baby fight his own battles!"

Vriska finally decided to open her trap, adopting a mock motherly tone, grin plastered on her face.

"…is the baby scaaaaaaaared? Maybe some wood to gnaw on would help?"

Dave twitched, her annoying habit of drawing out words irked him to no end, she cackles, acting as though she'd told the best joke known to man.

"You can fuck off too, _Spiderbitch_."

Dave chuckled, a smirk on his own face. He knew from good sources Vriska was increasingly sensitive about her weird arachnid obsession. She scowled, raising a prominent middle finger.

In his haste to put her in her place Dave hadn't noticed the fist rearing back, only to lurch forward and plant itself firmly in his cheek, this shook John and pushed a yelp from his lips. Dave grunted trying to recover, and English jumped in to join.

John was shoved, his back pressed into a scratchy brick wall, Dave leaning against him soon after being smacked and punched. He couldn't move, the wall and boy stilling him against is will; he soon realized this position was for his own safety so no one could lurk behind. After what seemed like an endless beating, which in reality was barely over a minute, Dave snapped, fighting back.

John felt Dave press into him, the force of his swing knocking the air out of the blue-eyed boy. He gasped, watching Landon's face mold around the angry pale fist, almost in slow motion. Temporarily the lot went silent, the only sound was Landon's body, unconscious before he even fell, hitting the ground and Dave's heavy breathing. From his position behind the pissed off blonde he could already see violent bruising on his cheeks, John had to admit he was scared to view the rest, knowing it would only be worse.

Vriska was the first to be heard, a loud and delayed gasp as she finally put together what had happened. She looked almost comical, now sporting the same frightened look John himself had previously worn. Briefly, he acknowledges how stupid her fear was, sure Dave was a brutal fighter, sure he was totally losing his cool, but he'd never hit a girl; not even on as rude as her.

There was another pressure, followed by a complete lack of heat, so fast John's brain hardly processed it. Dave had made an, unnaturally fast as is the Strider way, lunge at Noir. Now, despite being quick himself, the other boy was no match for the blonde's speed. Blow after blow was pelted into the boy's face, Dave mercilessly attacking before the other finally reciprocating, hiking his leg up and into the youngest Strider's kidney.

John practically tried to be one with the wall, watching in horror as his friend and his bully duked it out. He could feel Dave getting tired, obviously hurt from the duo beating he'd previously received, but he didn't stop. Noir was huffing and panting, possibly due to the fact Dave had moved his punches from the face to the stomach searching for the soft spots. John was mortified, but just when it looked like things were going to get worse, _he_ showed up.

The screech of truck breaks stopping much too abruptly from too high a speed filled the air. Following this was the heavy thundering of feet and a booming call that made all three jump in surprise. John watched as Dave was picked up in a blur, deposited up against the wall beside him. It was Mr. S-Bro.

A small groan snaps him from his daze, the younger of the two brothers lying in a little heap. Quickly tending to him, something he'd grown quite good at, he didn't realize how aggressively the man grabbed Noir, how he leaned in close, glaring, whispering something so menacing the beaten boy in his grasp went white. By the time he'd turned around to check on the scene Landon, now starting to wake and groaning, was being supported by the other two tormenters as they all three scrambled away. John looked up to Bro, pushing up the thin frame of his glasses awestruck.

"C'mon kiddo, let's get you two home."

"Alright, I should probably call my d-"

"Already taken care of, you'll be staying at Casa de Strider for a few weeks."

With a clap on his shoulder and a grin that made him feel dorky and privileged he picked the heap that was Dave and slung him over his shoulder, leading John to the truck. He never meant for it to happen, heck it was somewhat weird even to him, but somehow he found himself falling for his best friend's brother. Now, of course, John didn't realize it at first no one ever did, but in time he found he could notice little things, feel little flutters, but that is later and this is now and right now he was climbing in a truck with his semi-conscious best friend and his oldest brother, about to drive and stay at the coolest, albeit oddest, house around.


	2. Chapter 2

The car ride was long, it made John curious to just how Bro had found them. He was pretty sure they were just driving idly around for the most part; something told him Bro didn't want to go home, and although it was kind of weird considering Dave beaten to a pulp John found he didn't really mind. Heat flooded in through the windows,, rolled down to help cool off each of the three bodies, along with it a rush of wind that roared over the laughter that had filled the truck. Bro was telling them a story Dave had heard a million times, but John was just getting a taste of. More than likely the reason for him never hearing was because it was deliciously embarrassing. It details the trials of Dave as a toddler finally becoming potty trained a feat that was of course accomplished way earlier than most children and celebrated by apple juice and junk food as is the Strider way. After only a few days something utterly hilarious occurred: Dave fell in the toilet and found himself stuck, as a child he was just as slender as he was now and being so young he easily fit into the bowl of the toilet; the problem however was due to the small boys panic to get out resulting in being unable to get out and Bro laughing to hard to help. At this point the blond was making empty threats if they ever dared tell anyone else; this of course only made the opposite two laugh harder, Bro almost having to pull the truck over.

"Ha-fucking-Ha guys! Not that funny."

"Oh but Dave dude it **_so _**is. This is almost funnier than pranking you!"

At this Bro's ears perked, glancing over to John with a slightly curious look; one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth curled on one side.

"Oh? Have you pranked lil man?"

John scoffed, cracking his knuckles like he was the master of all things comical and prank related, he let a pleased sigh escape reaching up and stretching.

"Oh Bro…" He paused dramatically, "I am the **_master_** at pranking. Especially Dave."

This in turn got an empty water bottle launched to the back of his head hitting with a hollow "clunk" before falling to the floorboard. He turned around in a huff, Bro laughing, Dave raising an eyebrow as though he was completely innocent and undeserving of the mock-glare John gave him.

"Something wrong Egderp?"


	3. Chapter 3

Dave smirked, using the old fond nickname he'd given the blue eyed jokester when they'd first met, waiting for his reply. as much as he tried to stay fake-mad, John could stop the small smug grin that pulled at his lips retorting.

"Nothing at all, Stridork."

Bro made a pout, looking over to John at the misuse of the Strider name, causing both teens to laugh, patting his shoulders in assurance. The three bantered back and forth the whole car ride, hardly noticing the slight bump from the switch of paved to natural roads, the smell of upturned dirt lingering in the air. None particularly cared where they were going, they were only eager words and a flurry of dust, the chill of night slunk in but they never once rolled up a window or even slowed down. The truck sped along the back roads, shaking and jumping as the trusty well-cared for tires dipped into divots and potholes, bouncing Dave who refused to wear a seatbelt saying how "They were only going home, and Bro was driving" he was _fine_, they were fine.

Hours seemed like seconds and before any of them were willing to admit it, they were home, pulling into the driveway laughter replaced by quiet yawns, soft reminiscent chuckles, and the crunch of gravel under the weight of the truck.

"Hey l'il man, get Egbert set up in your room?"

He was exhausted, spending half the night searching all over town, practically giving himself an ulcer, for the two boys; only to find them behind the school fighting. Finding himself threatening teenagers, poor heart sinking as he picked up the little lump of blonde and set it by John while he made sure their assailants were well and gone. Then instead of doing what he should've and going home right there, indulging in the company and not so slyly keeping them all out. A coy grin spread on his face, he'd always been pretty fond of that friend of Dave's. As the boys chattered sleepily to each other, talking about summer plans and being wild carefree teenager who grew up too fast for their brains to follow, heading to Dave's room he sighed. Shaking his head, going to the cabinet and pulling out the old bottle of whisky he kept blowing off the dust (he really was more of a beer kind of guy, the hard stuff was… well it was for situations like this when he needed to relax). Hands worked on their own, moving before he even had the chance to think of were he wanted them to go, pulling out a shot glass and downing a few gulps, shaking his head like a dog sighing as the burn shot through with each drink.

"Get those thoughts outta ya mind…"

He spoke to himself, a quiet murmur of a man who knows he's done or doing something wrong, shaking his head once more as if he could slip the thoughts out that way. His drawl seeping in his voice, husky from the burning alcohol, due to lack of sleep and the comfort of being alone in the kitchen.


End file.
